


The Poems of Time

by Artikaa



Category: Tales of Berseria, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Berseria Spoilers, F/F, post berseria, pre zestiria, talesfemslashweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:37:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikaa/pseuds/Artikaa
Summary: After the end of Innominat's supression, but before the Age of Chaos, the poet-storyteller was born.Of course, she had already been alive and well--she had even helped fight Innominat herself. And yet, that part of her life was now the past. It was scribbled away in one of her many books, where she carried with her the history of the world. It was a lonely life. The humans she loved so dearly had such a short lifespan, and so she stayed on the edge of society, taking notes, marking in her tomes that the centuries were passing by.Magilou had accepted her destiny, but she never expected she would find someone with which to share it.Based on the very unrelevant, super short side quest in Zestiria where you find a grave that may or may not belong to Magilou, which was being watched over by a red-haired seraph named Aksha.





	The Poems of Time

They had started calling her the poet-storyteller.

It had been centuries since all of friends had died or became otherwise… removed. Meaning that Eleanor’s life was short compared to hers, that Rokurou had finally met his match, and that Eizen had turned into a dragon and rested on Rayfalke. Even Bienfu had found a nice normin and she released him so he could settle down. It wasn’t like she needed him to fight anymore—she wasn’t allowed to interfere with the world. And, of course, Velvet and Laphicet were sealed away, playing some big part in maintaining the balance of the world or whatever.

Magilou was still alive. She still had her wits about her as time passed her by. She was a Mayvin—and life, to her, was no short thing.

While her friends all played their parts in keeping the world safe and progressive (even Eleanor, in the years after their journey, took it upon herself to improve the small world she could), Magilou could do nothing but sit back and write. Her master had passed on; they had killed him. That made her the new storyteller of time, whether she liked it or not, and she didn’t mind so much.

But she was alone. She had a newfound love for people, but people lived such short lives. The malaks she surrounded herself with were good company, sure, but it wasn’t their history she was dutied to record. And then the malaks dragged their old name back to this planet, and they were once again seraphim. It didn’t bother Magilou too much—she was unconcerned with what she was meant to call things, so long as she could keep track of them.

Somewhere around the 3000th year, Magilou remembered one aspect of their journey that she had long since forgotten. She chuckled, pushing long strands of her hair away from her face. She no longer looked like a teenager. She had looked like an adult for a few centuries now, though still a young one at that. Magilou turned her eyes to the sky from the grass where she lay, wondering if there was still a katz hanging around the town that used to be Taliesin.

-

Katz Korner was the same as always. It hadn’t changed at all since Magilou had been there last, though she kept expecting to hear sneezes and sniffles just behind her. But there were none, and she pressed forth, to the door she hadn’t been allowed to enter all those years ago.

“Can I help mew?” The katz at the door asked, eyeing Magilou’s clear skin. “You have to be at least two theowsand years old to enter the katz pajamas.”

Magilou rolled her eyes. She had always though the fuzzy little creatures had too much of a smart mouth for their own good. “You know, it’s rude to ask a lady’s age.” The katz stared Magilou down, but before it could open its mouth it was interrupted.

“I’z didn’t do anythingz thiz timez! Why’z you back? And where’z the, uh, scary lady wiz the claw?”

A familiar dark shell had waddled its way into Magilou’s peripheral and her eyes slid down to the nervous face of the dark turtlez. “Oh, good,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “Here, vouch for me and I’ll make sure you never have to see that scary lady ever again.”

The turtlez swallowed visibly, tucking his head just a little closer to his shell. “Doez you just wantz into the katz pajamaz? You’ze not here to hurt mez?”

“I can arrange otherwise if you don’t want to help,” she snapped at him, and he stumbled back, nearly falling onto his shell.

“Oh, I see meow!” The katz at the door narrowed its eyes accusingly. “You and your pawls are the ones who put the dark turtlez out of businyas. I remember mew coming here to fight.”

“See?” Magilou said, her patience running short, “that was at least a few thousand years ago. Satisfied?” The katz sighed but stepped aside to let her pass. With a victorious smirk, Magilou stepped through the door.

It looked… completely different than she had expected. Of course, she wasn’t sure what _to_ expect. The lights were turned down low, save for the colored beams that danced across the floor and the walls. Katz littered the place, but all around it seemed like a normal club. It was _huge_ , though, and much nicer than any club she had found herself in before.

She walked up to what she assumed was the bar, where a katz stood on the other side atop a lifted floor. It was quite strange to look at, really: The bar itself was at a normal height for humans and seraphs, yet the inside, where the bartender was, as lifted so it was only half a katz lower than the bar itself. Instead of stools, there was one large bench that died off on either side into a ramp. Several katz sat on the bench, scattered about.

To simplify, it was a strange looking bar.

Magilou walked up to an empty part of the bench and glanced around. There were several more bars scattered throughout the katz pajamaz, come manned by katz and others by seraphim. There was a wide array of races present; everyone over 2000 was welcome, after all.

She turned back and the katz behind the bar was leaning against it. The fur above his lip was groomed into a moustache, and Magilou couldn’t help but stare directly at it as she spoke. “So, uh,” she said eloquently, squinting at the gelled moustache on the katz’s lip. “What do you have, exactly?”

The katz rolled its eyes and grabbed a large glass, filling it with a white liquid from the tap behind him before sliding it in front of her. Magilou took it hesitantly, eyeing the opaque substance. The bartender turned away, heading to the other side of the bar as more customers beckoned him forth.

Magilou lifted the glass to her lips and sipped, not expecting the drink to be milk, despite the presence of the katz. She immediately chastised herself for not _expecting_ milk, and then made her way deeper into the club, sipping her drink.

The milk itself was strange. It was cold and thick, and had the underlying flavor of cinnamon. It didn’t take long for her to feel the effects—it was definitely mixed with alcohol of some sort. Magilou walked idly through the club, and the deeper she ventured the louder the music got. She stepped into a large opening, where lights, smoke, and the flashing tile floor spread throughout the center of the room.

There was a group of seraphs in the center, dancing their hearts out to the loud music. The katz were around them, several of them stacked atop each other’s shoulders to form mewing totems. Magilou found a nearby bar and seated herself, sipping at her warming milk as she watched the show.

“You know, it’d be a lot more fun if you brought your friends.”

It took a second for Magilou to register that the voice was talking to her. She turned to find a red-haired seraph smirking beside her. Magilou emptied her glass and placed it on the bar for the bartender to refill. This katz didn’t have a moustache she could stare at, so she looked again at the seraph.

She shrugged, nonchalant. “Friends? That sounds awfully tedious.” Her green eyes slid over the woman’s face. She had a long nose, but a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the same red as her hair and they were wide, making her nose look not so big though both features seemed exaggerated. Her nose had a slight upturn, but her lips were all but perfect. Magilou turned away. “And where are yours?”

The seraph nodded to the group dancing in the center of the room. “Those would be mine. Though I don’t quite fancy dancing as they do. I’d rather watch.”

“Oh? Then what’s the point in even coming?”

“To watch,” she said again, leaning on the bar to put her chin in her hands. “Observe and take notes, you know. Maybe one day I’ll want to join them, and maybe not—so why not tag along anyway?”

Magilou watched as the woman flagged down the katz for a drink, and as she took a sip from the glass she found herself asking a question that she hadn’t asked to another person in a long time.

“What’s your name?”

“Aksha,” she said. “And yours?”

Magilou stretched her arms above her head. She was feeling the buzz of the milk already. “Ooh, now which name to give? You can tell a lot about someone from their name, you know. Mazhigigika Miludin do Din Nolurun Dou is the name I give people. Of course, I don’t expect you to remember even a bit of that—which is why I give it out.” She shrugged. “It just doesn’t matter. Or, I could tell you that I’m Magillanica Lou Mayvin. A lot shorter, there.”

“Mayvin?” The seraph asked, her eyes widening slightly. “As in the storyteller Mayvin?”

Magilou rolled her eyes. “Yeah, don’t call me that.”

“So… Magillanica, then?”

“Actually, just Magilou is fine. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Oh, so you have friends now?” Aksha said, smirking as she brought up Magilou’s previous words. “And where would they be?”

“Mostly? Dead,” Magilou closed her eyes and took another drink.

“Oh,” said Aksha, her back stiffening. “I—I didn’t mean—“

“Come on, you didn’t kill them. Time did.” She patted the books lining her skirt. “The past is the past.”

Aksha nodded, and both women sat at the bar in silence. Aksha’s friends came back over, breathing heavily and full of smiles and laughs. They said they were leaving, and she told them to go on without her. Magilou eyed the other woman curiously as she watched her friends leave.

“Unfinished business?”

Aksha turned back to Magilou, a strangely familiar determined look sharpening her features against the dim lights. “Nothing like that,” she said. “I just didn’t want to leave my new friend all by herself.

**Author's Note:**

> ((Maybe I'll continue this??))  
> Thanks for reading!


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